


Storm Ends

by bearlion



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hela is Loki's Daughter, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, No Incest, Rating Might Change, and some other stuff, dad Loki, hela isn't evil she's just queen of the dead, i hate endgame, mjolnir still exists, post apocolyptic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2020-02-08 17:08:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18627571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearlion/pseuds/bearlion
Summary: He appears, haggard and sad. "You need to hurry before I run out of time. I cannot keep this up for much longer."Loki flinches suddenly, then his green eyes plead with Thor. "Please brother, just listen to me. They're coming and I can help, but I need you to find me."





	1. a memory - a distant echo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is too soon.
> 
> He isn’t ready at all.
> 
> Everything is wrong.

_what if this storm ends?_   
_and leaves us nothing_   
_except a memory_   
_a distant echo_

 

Sometimes the dreams are just that. Dreams. Sometimes, they’re flashes from someone else’s mind - not exact truths, but perceptions of the events and memories. Interpretations. The boy is never sure which he prefers. Being in another’s head is better than his own on occasion.

This is not one of those times.

The place he finds himself in is hot, humid. There’s lightning, fire, chaos. Screaming. He watches as a muscular man is tortured by a giant creature - he recognizes the victim in the back of his mind, but cannot put a name to the face. Then another, slender man screams, “All right, stop!” He engages with the giant and the boy watches in horror as the man’s neck is snapped and the tortured man sobs over his body.

He knows them.

He _knows_ he knows them.

The smell of ozone hits him and his mind is yanked back to a blackness.

He blinks. Soft, golden sunlight warms his skin as it peeks in through the leaves and he smiles as he recognizes where he is. It is a memory, only that, but it is comforting. He is sitting under the large willow he used to play under as a child as his grandmother worked her garden. He remembers imagining the swaying branches as the hair of a giant, guarding him from anything that could harm him.

His father planted this tree as a child.

“Mother said I would need a place when I was older,” he had said with a sad laugh. His father had always looked sad - especially since his mother had left. “But you need it as well. It is yours now.”

The boy had been ten when he had been given his father's hiding spot. A few years ago, his father had taken his brother, mother, the dogs, and him elsewhere. There was destruction coming, he had said. It was better they went somewhere safe. The boy hadn't seen his father's tree, the garden, his grandmother, his home - none of them since. His father has stopped visiting, even.

That was to be expected, though.

There’s a rustling and the boy looks up. His father is there, parting the branches and looking more drawn and sad than he remembers. The boy gets up quickly and is wrapped in a tight embrace.

Something is wrong.

Something is _very_ wrong.

“Papa?” he asks in a whisper. His father his father holds him tighter and the boy knows. He knows that this is real. This isn’t a dream, at least, not anymore than it was the last time.

“It’s too soon,” his father breathes against his neck. “It’s far too soon.” The boy is almost as tall as his father now, but he wishes he was small again. He wants to be held in his father’s arms completely as a babe, he wishes his grandmother was here so he could hide in her skirts.

“Papa, what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice trembling. He can feel his father start to cry.

“My little one,” his father says. “My sweetest boy. You are needed and I cannot help you any more than this.” A kiss is placed on his head then, and everything goes away.

 

It is pitch black outside, the owl is hooting. The boy groans and gets up to let the whining dog out of the room. Rubbing his eyes, he turns on the lamp and freezes. On the chair next to his bed is a sight he never wanted to see. A helmet sits there, glittering gold. An envelope is impaled upon its horn, two knives sheathed and waiting beneath the chair.

The boy lets out a shaky breath and starts to sob, falling to his knees. His chest feels torn apart.

It is too soon.

He isn’t ready at all.

There's a howl from the dog, sympathetic to his boy's pain.

Everything is wrong.


	2. there goes my heart beating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki moves away from him, looking almost heartbroken.
> 
> The world twists and nothingness remains.

_there goes my heart beating_   
_you are the reason_   
_I'm losing my sleep_   
_please come back now_

 

Defeating the Mad Titan did not bring them back. Thor didn’t know why he thought it would, but he had hoped. His entire family was gone - Allfather, Allmother, Loki. He was alone. Jane was dust, Selvig was dust. Darcy was still alive. He shared his modest home with her and her latest boyfriend in New Asgard, but it wasn’t the same.

He spent most of his days attending to whatever governmental issues required him. If there were none, he would hike. He’d leave for weeks, staying on the fjord and watching the waves crash. His people were doing well, though still battle-worn and weary. Midgardian technology was not easy for any of them, but they were adapting.

Nothing could soften the emptiness.

Thor would send letters (not the electronic kind as he refused to own one of those computers - they would give one viruses) to Steven and receive them back. It could take weeks to get a response, unfortunately, even if he used the little bit of seiðr he knew. He tried not to use it often. It made his stomach clench. His father and mother and Loki were gone and he was alone.

 

It had been… what, four days? Four days, maybe five, since he left New Asgard for solitude. He was sitting on the stone where his father had died. He held his head in his hands and did his best to focus on his breathing. Brunhilde had been forcing him to go to therapy. A king, a god in therapy. He snorted. It was pathetic, but it was helping.

He hoped.

There was a tug at the back of his mind and he froze. There was something familiar. He closed his eyes and let it take him. His core was pulled away and his mind spun and then he was… elsewhere.

 

“Brother,” said a voice behind him. Thor spun on his heel and barely kept on his feet.

“Loki,” he breathed. They were standing in the wreckage of what looked like New York. His eyes started to tear up, his throat tighten. He stumbled forward and pulled his baby brother to him, not caring that this was just a vision. It was _Loki_. Norns, he had missed this fool.

“I can’t stay for long,” Loki says. “Hela cannot grant me favors here, so I need you to listen carefully. I need you to remember what I tell you and follow my instructions.”

“Anything, brother,” Thor promises. “Anything.”

“I need you to find the Captain. The key will come to you.” He pulls away from Thor and looks him in the face, his green eyes serious and anxious at the same time. “I am not gone, Thor. I have found a way out. But you need the key.”

“The key,” Thor repeats, heart leaping at his brother’s words. “I do not understand, but I will do as you ask.” A small smile makes its way to Loki’s lips. “You’re alive?”

“Mostly,” he says. “Mostly.” A cold hand touches Thor’s face gently, lovingly, and then Loki moves away from him, looking almost heartbroken. The world twists and nothingness remains.

 

The fjord returned and he tried to steady his racing heart. Find the Captain. He can do that. Bringing himself to his feet, he shoulders his pack and makes for his new home. His little brother has need of him. Excitement and hope surge through him and he starts to run. Loki is _alive_.

The fields pass, the sheep and cows look alarmed at him as he races. A couple of the herdsmen wave at him and he pauses to speak to them quickly. His people are adapting well to their land. He supposes this is what it would be like if the Midgardian Vikings were back, but with modern technology and seiðr. He breaks bread at dusk with an older woman and her granddaughter, thanking her greatly and makes sure to bless their fields before racing off.

Loki doesn’t have much time.

But Loki is _alive_.

 

Brunhilde agrees to manage New Asgard for him, though she frowns when he doesn’t explain why he must leave. Thor hugs her and calls Mjolnir before stepping outside and flying away. He isn’t sure how to explain as he isn’t sure himself. All he knows is his brother needs him and he is to find the Captain.

 _I’m coming, brother,_ he thinks to himself. _I’ll find you._


	3. for a heart that is broken makes a beautiful sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How do you know my brother?” the god asks, his voice rough.
> 
> “I’ve known him my whole life,” the teen says.

_the road on which I've traveled is as long as it is cracked_   
_but I keep pressing forward with my feet to the ground,_   
_for a heart that is broken makes a beautiful sound_

 

The little house at the top of the mountain is cozy, filled with homemade quilts, sweaters, and old copper and cast iron pots and pans. The pictures of what he supposes are grandchildren make him sad. What sort of people lived here? He makes sure to add them to his already lengthy list for when he does the rosary. Something about the death of half the world’s population made him go back to his childhood practices again. Not even the War had done that.

He tries to pull his mind out of that - it’s a spiral he can’t let himself get into again. Not when there’s work to do.

Steve hums while he pours coffee into two mugs and puts some cereal in a large bowl. Fresh food is tricky to find, unless he feels like going down to the nearest town. He debated buying a chicken for while he’s here. Eggs would be good, and if they had to leave he could always make a nice dinner for their last night.

The solitude here has been a relief after watching the frantic rebuilding in DC. There’s always something to do there. He and Thor trade off on keeping an eye on the perimeter, chopping firewood, exploring the woods. Steve has discovered the next family over - a young mother and her baby - and helps them as often as he can. He worries about how they’ll fare, but the girl tells him that they’ve been in the mountains forever and they’ll be fine. He smiles and makes sure she has as much firewood as he can get her and gives her extra quilts from the cabin.

He takes the coffee and cereal out to Thor and sits next to him on the porch. The mist is heavy in the mountains, the ground is wet. He wonders if Norway looks like this, but he’s never paid that much attention on his visits. They usually go sailing when he’s there.

The dawn is orange and the fog finally starts to lift.

“Watch over there,” the god says quietly and points at a point just beyond the stump in the field. About a hundred feet out, there’s a moving figure. The only reason he notices is because the color is out of place. Bright purple doesn’t match the blueish-grey of the morning or the green and brown of the trees.

A stocky figure and a large black animal are slowly making their way across the field. The animal moves away from the figure, trotting towards the stump, then racing back and barking, though it’s so deep it sounds like a low _boof_. It’s probably the largest dog Steve has ever seen.

“Do you think that’s the boy?”

“Possibly,” Thor responds. He drains his coffee and stands, pulling his hair into a loose bun before stepping off the porch. Steve follows, taking his mug with.

The dog runs up and Thor reaches a hand out, getting a happy smothering of kisses and tail wags in response. His usually grim face breaks into a smile and he kneels, letting the dog try to suffocate him. Steve laughs a little and watches the boy approach. Now he’s closer, he’s easier to study. Dirty jeans, worn boots, a Minnesota Vikings shirt, a sherpa jacket over it. His reddish-brown hair is braided and his face is smudged with dirt. The boy is shorter than he is by maybe a half foot, stocky, and tense like he’s ready for the other boot to drop at any moment.

“What’s your name, boy?” Thor asks, separating himself from the big dog.

The kid looks at him, his lips twisting to a slight smirk. “I’d like your name first - my mother told me not to talk to strangers.” Steve snorts.

“I’m Steven Rogers,” he says, before the god can say something they both regret, and holds out his hand. _The balls on this kid_ \- he recognizes the attitude from when he was about that age. A calloused, scarred hand shakes his, then mismatched blue and green eyes flick over to the taller of the pair.

“Thor Odinson, King of Asgard.” The boy bows his head. “Again. Who are you?”

“Sorry, King Thor,” the boy says, his voice sounding oddly amused. “I’m Váli, boy of Stillwater, Minnesota.” That does it. Steve laughs and Thor just stares. Váli grins, hands in pockets. The dog goes and sits next to him. His head reaches up to the boy’s navel. “I claim guest rights,” Váli says suddenly and the god studies him with a serious eye.

“How do you know that, Minnesota boy? I was not aware you have kept that tradition from your forefathers.”

“My father is not from Minnesota,” Váli says. “I am.” Thor nods and turns to the cabin. Steve looks back to the boy and shrugs.

“After you.”

 

“We have been waiting,” Thor says simply.

“And I have been traveling,” comes the response. Steve had found powdered chocolate in the cabinet and had made hot chocolate. Váli oddly didn’t seem cold even though it was barely March and he was thinly dressed. “West Virginia is a bit far from home.”

“Who told you to come here?” Steve asks. He doubts a kid from Minnesota would come to a mountaintop in Appalachia unless it was the one they were told to wait for. He fidgeted with the rosary he had wrapped around his wrist. Váli runs a finger over the lip of his mug.

“This tall, dark haired guy.” His dog pads over and sits at the empty side of the table, resting his head on the table and focuses his amber eyes on them, as if he is the fourth participant in the conversation. “Wish he had made you guys meet me at home, though.”

“How old are you?” Steve asks. He knows Váli is young, but once the grime had been washed off his face, he noticed that he still had some babyish curves to his cheeks and no hint of facial hair.

“I'll be seventeen in the summer.”

“And you’re by yourself?” The alarm rises in his throat then. The modern world is more dangerous than the world he remembered as a kid. Especially now. Where were his parents? How did he get across the country by himself?

Váli shrugs. “Fenrir and I are the only ones left and I don’t know how to drive stick. We got some rides on the way out here.” Steve stares. The little he knows about Norse mythology… that can’t be the Fenris wolf. _Can it?_

Thor starts laughing and the dog lifts his head from the table, tilting it. “Well, anyone who the valiant Fenrir likes is always welcome here.” He tosses a cracker and Fenrir catches it and there’s a loud thumping noise as his tail wags. “Your father, Váli, is he from the North? Is he one of the folk?”

“Yes,” Váli says, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t think many normal American kids are named Váli, my king.” The dog huffs as if to say _duh_.

Thor hums and nods, leaning back in his chair with his hands folded over his stomach. “We were told you were a key to finding Thor’s brother,” Steve says after a moment of silence. The teen reaches into his pocket and pulls out a worn envelope, stained and torn. From in it he pulls out a wad of papers and keeps a few to himself before passing the rest across the table. Fenrir whines and Váli’s hand goes to scratch at his ears.

A map and two letters - one for Steve and one for Thor. The map is confusing, written in runes, though he assumes Thor can read them. The teen looks over the papers he has for himself, his face turning sullen.

Steve unfolds his letter and starts to read.

 

_Captain Rogers,_

_I apologize to you for this sudden imposition. I had hoped that it wouldn’t happen, but know this is what needs to be done. I have managed to preserve three of your comrades from the Titan’s devastation, though I cannot keep them forever as they are. Something is coming and you will need their help. Mine too, if I am able to offer it._

_It has taken two years for me to gather enough power to be able to both sustain them and contact you._

_I need you to come and find me as I cannot leave this place without help._

_The boy Váli is how you will find me. Thor can use seiðr but not enough to go through the secret places to find me. Váli is more adept and he knows the way._

_Please take care of my brother and the boy during the journey._

Sincerely,  
_Loki Odinson  
_Brother of Thor

 

Steve sets the letter down and runs his fingers over the rosary at his wrist. Who has Loki kept alive? He tries to keep his emotions in check and to avoid hoping, but if Bucky….

A shaky breath is the only noise besides the dog’s happy snuffles. Steve glances over at Thor and pretends he doesn’t see the subtle wiping of tears. Váli is still looking over his own letter, still scratching Fenrir.

“How do you know my brother?” the god asks, his voice rough.

“I’ve known him my whole life,” the teen says slowly, carefully. “He’s… my teacher.” Thor frowns, but doesn’t argue. The pale fingers wave and a golden helmet appears in the center of the table. The horns curve back wickedly and Steve swallows, recognizing it. Thor freezes, his fingers shakily reaching out to touch it. “We need to leave tomorrow. The passage will only be open until the next full moon or so before it closes. It’s about a week or so’s travel and I don’t want to have to go to Canada for the next nearest passageway. I cannot transport the four of us with seiðr alone - I don’t have the skill for that.”

Steve nods and gets up. Thor remains, drawing Loki’s helm to his chest as if it were a baby. Steve places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes before going off to pack, the curious Fenrir following him.

 

He doesn’t know why, but the dog seems to be trying to help. Fenrir pulls blankets from the open hope chest in the main bedroom and drags them to Steve, dropping them at his feet and then trots off to find the few clothes he and Thor had brought with. He rewards the dog with scratches and discovers that Fenrir loves having his snout rubbed.

A noise makes him look up to find Váli watching them both from the doorway. “Thor is packing the food you have,” the teen says simply, hands in pockets. “What do you need me to do?”

“I’ve got it handled,” Steve says. “Tell me about yourself.”

With an awkward shift, the kid makes a twisted kind of face. “I’m not sure what you want to know. I’m from Minnesota, I was a carpenter’s apprentice and high school sophomore before everything went to shit. Fen’s my best friend and he's a moron. My favorite color is purple.” Steve snorts. “What about you, Captain?”

“I’m not really a Captain anymore.” Steve pulls the old rucksack closed and ties it. “I’m just a guy from a Brooklyn that doesn’t exist anymore. Call me Steve, okay?”

“Okay,” the kid says. “We’ve got about four hours before we have to go. You can get a nap in if you want.” The blond takes in the exhaustion in the teen’s face and frowns before pointing at the bed.

“You need it more than I do,” he says in his commanding officer voice. “You and your dog should take that time to rest up. Let me and Thor finish up.” Váli shrugs and moves to the bed, the dog barely having to hop up to join him. Amber eyes follow him as the kid settles back with an arm over his face. Steve isn’t sure what to make of the two, especially the odd dog. Fenrir, the world ending dog. Norse mythology is confusing and he hopes that it’s just that. But considering he’s known two Norse gods for years now….

 

He sits on the porch with Thor, enjoying the last of the tranquility the wooded mountain provides as the god puffs on an old pipe. The two rucksacks are against the wall, next to the teenager’s backpack. There was a time when Steve was younger and he imagined moving out to somewhere like this. Somewhere away from the bustle of the city, but at the same time, Brooklyn was all he knew and it was a ridiculous pipe dream.

Steve tosses a baseball between his hands, running the worn leather in his fingers. He finally puts it into his jacket pocket before standing and putting his old Dodgers cap on and stretching. Thor stands with a grunt, frowning.

“The boy is familiar,” he says around the pipe held in his teeth. “I can’t place my finger on it.” Steve shrugs and nods. He’s had the same impression since the kid showed up hours ago. Something seems off, but familiar. Thor had promised there was nothing true in the myth about the wolf Fenrir. Just that his brother had had a pet wolf named Fenris when they were young, but that was all. The creature had been loyal and was decidedly not to swallow the sun. While Steve took that to be a good thing, there was still something worrying.

The door opens and the dog bounds out, bumping Thor’s hand with his head, demanding scratches with tail wags. Váli grabs his bag and yawns. His bicolored eyes are bleary and he has the imprint of a pillow on his face.

“We can’t drive or fly,” he says. “The passage will lock itself up if it senses us doing that. They get picky on Midgard. We’ll have to hike to it.” Thor nods and Steve sighs, but agrees. He did worse during the War. He can do it now. He’ll be traveling lighter at least. And there aren’t Nazis hiding out. Just bandits. And - _are_ there bears in Appalachia? He should have looked it up before coming out here. Of all the things he thought to research beforehand, that was something he forgot. _Shit_.

The redhead mutters something and holds his hand out. A large purple-black bird (an eagle?) appears, chirping unhappily, and takes flight, pecking at Váli’s ear before soaring in a low circle over the field. Fenrir _boofs_ happily, tail wagging wildly and prances off after it. He’s pretty nimble for such a huge dog. Thor grins at Steve and grabs his bag before following.

“Ari will lead us the way,” the teen says, fingering at his slightly bleeding ear with a frown. Steve shoulders his pack and warily eyes the mage and god. This will be an experience. _Guess that’s what I get for agreeing to help Loki._

Ever since the slightly-redeemed, maybe-dead god of mischief had shown himself in the _laundromat_ of all places and informed Steve that Thor was coming to get him for a mission in Appalachia to find him and three of the former Avengers (presumed dead), he had been running blind. Thor’s younger brother had always been fascinating, confusing. But this was almost too much. This was like working with Howard Stark but on a more extreme level. Almost beyond working with Tony, even. With _magic_.

He paused by the truck and grabbed his shield from behind the seat. He had painted it over in matte black, hoping that would camouflage him well enough for whatever they would be up against. He wasn’t Captain America anymore. There wasn’t really an America anymore. The world was falling apart, after all.

Maybe that’s why he had agreed to help. They needed any help they could get, even if it meant dealing with Thor’s crazy brother.

 _Maybe_.


	4. every hour, of every day, keeping you safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If a sheep wasn’t sheep-like, what would it be?
> 
> If you weren’t Váli-like, would you still be Váli?

_if I could turn back the clock_  
_I'd make sure the light defeated the dark_  
_I'd spend every hour, of every day  
keeping you safe_

 

It was their favorite time of day, after dinner. The boys would sit, wide eyed, three green and one blue, mouths slightly open as their mother moved quietly behind them. He loved sharing the tales, making figures interact and enact battles, making ships float on the wind, singing little songs instead of just drowning out the voices.

Nari leaned back into his wolf pup’s snowy fur, making himself comfortable, following the tale with his eyes. But Váli gaped in wonder, squeaking and flinching and sighing happily, his wolf pup curled around his legs like a shadow and watching in wonder with him. Eventually Nari dozed off as always, their mother leaving for her last bit of work for the evening, and it was just him and his youngest. The tale ended and the questions began.

“Papa, why are sheep so sheep-like?”

“Would they be sheep if they weren’t?” He’d answered with a smile. The mismatched eyes squinted at him as he moved to open the shutters to cool the home down for the evening. “Think, Váli. If a sheep wasn’t sheep-like, what would it be? If you weren’t Váli-like, would you still be Váli?”

The little nose scrunched and he laughed, picking the boy up and moving out to the little paddock out back, taking a seat on the bench against the house. Pale hands played with his loose grey tunic, picking at a thread.

“Everybody says twins are supposed to be the same,” the small one says, his voice a frown in itself. “They say Nari and I aren’t twins because we aren’t the same.”

_Oh my little one._

“Sweetling, your uncle and I look nothing alike and yet we are twins,” he says, pressing his lips to the chestnut curls.

“But they say I don’t look like you either, so I’m not even yours!” The small face pressed into his chest and he could feel tears start to dampen his shirt. Loki let a breath out and let his eyes shift back to their natural color, let his seiðr remove his hair grease to let his curls loose. He stood, turning and placing Váli down in the chair and knelt.

“Sweetling,” he said quietly. “Look at me. You are mine in every way.” His youngest looks up, then stares. He didn’t realize he had never let his children see his heterochromatic eyes before, the match to Váli’s, but he decided he would leave them be whenever he was home with them.

A small, pale hand touches his cheek and he holds it there, smiling. “I love you, Váli. You are mine. You just have a firey head like your mother.”  


 

Loki was grateful to his mother for tutoring his boys as he usually was stuck saving Thor’s useless friends on a regular basis and young seiðrmenn needed constant tutelage.

And there were none better than Frigga Allmother.

“Walk with me,” his mother said as he passed her garden, looking for his boys. Her eyes shone mischievously and he grinned, offering his arm. After a few minutes stroll, his mother sat on a bench under her favorite oak.

“You have chafed under your father's expectations all your life, Loki,” she said, taking his hands as he sat next to her. He grit his teeth and nodded. He is argr, the whispers always say. Unnatural, womanly. He wished his father would acknowledge his marriage officially, though he knew it wouldn’t stop the rumors. _Norns knew they weren’t entirely wrong._

But the unacknowledged marriage, his sons… even though he had claimed them and married their mother before they came into the world, by the Allfather’s refusal, they were essentially bastards. They had no titles beyond their names, no place in the line of succession.

“My darling,” his mother said, reaching to stroke his hair. “I would suggest letting your boys know that they can choose to be who they are. Allow them what your father hasn’t allowed you.”

Loki frowned at looked at her questioningly. “What do you mean, mother? The boys are doing well in their studies and are happy.”

“Nari loves seiðr. It sings to him and he to it. He hopes to apprentice with the healers when he reaches his middles.” Loki nodded. Nari has a habit of sneaking off to follow Eir, though he had been told he wasn’t allowed. Patients didn’t enjoy having a boy not old enough for apprenticing watching their visits to the healers.

“And Váli?”

The Allmother sighed, closing her eyes. “He has your skill, same as his brother. But his heart isn’t in it like it should be.”

“What do you mean? He learns quickly, he asks wonderful questions, he loves to watch me work….” Loki trailed off. “Oh.” Understanding spread over him like a wave and he felt as if he were the worst father, as if he were becoming his father.

“He wants to be you. He adores you so.” Loki was pulled into a tight hug and he breathed out shakily. How did he tell his child to stop lying to himself, when Loki did it constantly? Fatherhood was the hardest trick he had ever tried to pull and he wasn’t sure if he could ever manage to get it right.

 

Loki walked quickly up the cracked sidewalk, smiling at the little brick house. He was dressed in a military uniform, shapeshifted so his hair was shorn shirt, though some of his curls still were visible as he took his cap off. The neighbors were under the impression that he was deployed often and his wife was raising the boys while he was gone. It was a convincing lie, as far as they went.

Nari was the first to see him, rushing to give him a tight hug.

”Papa!” Tanned arms wrapped around his middle, squeezing and lifting him off his feet. He laughed, pulling away from his elder son. The twin was now an inch or so taller than he was, black hair cut short and peach fuzz coming in on his chin. “I’m so happy you’re home!”

“I’m glad to be home,” he said, smiling widely. “You’ve gotten big!” Nari puffed up with pride, his cheeks reddening. His wolf-dog sat on the porch, watching them with clear blue eyes. The screen door creaked open behind him and the giant black hound lumbered out, tail wagging wildly. Váli followed, running and jumping into Loki’s arms and wrapping himself around his father’s frame.

“Papa!” He nuzzled his face into his father’s neck and sighed happily. Loki held him in place as he moved to sit with Nari on the porch, to wait for Sigyn to arrive home.

That evening, the four went to the local “traditional Norwegian-style” restaurant and ordered far too much food. The two dogs sat nicely out front and Váli went out to share some of his fish with them.

The younger of the twins still hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet. At least, Loki didn’t think he had. The boy was maybe five foot two, though stocky. His face was still round and childish, his curls kept long and his freckles prominent against his pale cheeks. With Nari having hit his growth early, they truly looked nothing alike. It reminded him of his younger son’s insecurities as a little one and he swallowed.

The boys didn’t know about Loki being adopted yet. Sigyn did, but she left it up to him to tell them. They didn’t know that he wasn’t actually Thor’s twin. They didn’t know that... that…. he fought to keep his face straight. He would have to tell them at home. He couldn’t tell them their grandmother was dead in public. It would be cruel.

No, he would tell them later.

Thor was in London with his mortal, “Odin” was in his Odinsleep. Loki had a few days.

He hoped _._


	5. I could lie, say I like it like that

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He and Fen were alone and he didn’t know what to do.
> 
> He missed them so much he ached in his bones.

_quiet when I'm coming home_  
_I'm on my own._  
_I could lie,_  
_say I like it like that.  
I like it like that._

 

Fourth period was usually a free-for-all. Mr. Lindqvist preferred to let his students figure things out for themselves and for the last week they had been reenacting the lead up to World War One. Váli was on his belly behind one of the trenches they had made from toppled desks, wadding up notebook paper as quickly as he could for one of his “comrades” to lob at the opposing side as obscenities were shouted and laughter rang out.

As usual, Nari hung back by the wall, watching quietly with a book in his lap and perched on a table. Mr. L had given up on trying to get the older Lokesson to participate and just let him read instead. Váli found his brother’s behavior insufferable.

The twins were opposites anymore. Nari was tall and lanky, a varsity athlete in cross country and track, on the honor roll and involved in the National Honor Society. Váli was shorter, stockier, muscled. Varsity hockey, soccer, straight Cs. It’s not that he didn’t try. He liked school, he liked books. He just… he forgot his homework. It just disappeared somewhere between his backpack and the teacher’s desk. He blamed the _nisser_ \- he had accidentally knocked the offering bowl over a few times and was sure they were out to get him. Vindictive little assholes.

Anyways, homework was stupid. So he kind of gave up after it kept disappearing. _Fuck it._

As he finished his monstrosity he dubbed “Big Bertha” like the cannon, the size of a football and wrapped in tape, Váli peeked his head over the desk before lobbing it with a maniacal laugh.

“Axis wins!” Erika Ulrich yelled. The half of the class playing as Allies booed and the laughter started up louder than before.

Then it got weirdly quiet.

“What the fuck?” said a horrified voice next to him. Váli turned and his eyes widened as Jonathan Magnussen’s arm started to turn to dust. His eyes flickered around and he noticed it happening to other classmates. One disappeared into a swirl and a girl screamed. Váli stood, head snapping to look over at his brother.

Half his torso was gone, the glasses on his face slipping off as his nose started to disappear. The book fell to the ground.

“Nari!” he screamed and lunged, grabbing his brother’s hand just before it turned to dust in his. Everything turned to pandemonium and there was a mad dash for the doors. Váli grabbed his brother’s glasses and his book off the ground before grabbing his backpack and shoving his way into the mob.

He made his way outside and noticed in horror that Fenrir was alone. Romulus was always with Fen. Always waiting outside for the twins to get out of school.

What the fuck was even going on?

Váli closed his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes before breaking into a sprint to his house. Fen followed at his heels.

His shoe caught on the step up the porch and he tripped, cursing. His mom’s Jeep was in the driveway so she wasn’t on shift at the hospital yet. She’d know what to do. She could call his father if she didn’t - he could fix this maybe. He could fix anything.

“Ma! You’ve gotta call Papa! There’s weird stuff at school! Nari is missing!” He threw the screen door open, racing into the old house, skidding to a stop in the kitchen as he realized…

The little TV was on, the sink was running, there was a broken mug of coffee spilled on the floor. But his mother wasn’t there.

“Ma?” he repeated, voice cracking. “Ma, where are you?” He moved slowly back towards his mother's bedroom, dread filling him and making his legs feel like they were wearing concrete pants and shoes.

She wasn’t there either.

It was dark out when Váli sat down in the middle of the yard out back and started to sob, Fen’s head in his lap.

He and Fen were alone and he didn’t know what to do.

  


The house ran on well water and had an old wood stove so Váli and Fenrir were fine on their own. The two would go and do odd jobs for money to get food, or help Mrs. Østergaard at the grocery in trade for day old bread and dented cans before heading home to chop wood or whatever maintenance needed to be done for the day.

The busier he kept, the less time he had to worry about what was going to happen to him. Worry about what was going on outside of his town. He hadn’t had a radio in a while and he didn’t have the money to shell out for electricity for the TV so he mostly picked up on what the neighbors told him.

It sucked everywhere.

_Two years of pure and utter suckage._

At least he kept warm. Mrs. Østergaard let him stay in the little bedroom at her house if it got too far below zero, tutting over him and worrying. She understood he wanted to stay at his house and didn’t argue when he went home once it warmed up. He always shoveled snow and iced for her, fixed her house and trimmed her lawn as best he could with the old fashioned mower that he could never quite sharpen all the way.

He missed them so much he ached in his bones.

His father hadn’t been to visit in ages. Not since before everyone disappeared. The sickly pull in his gut that made him want to vomit and cry and scream told him that his father was probably gone too.

Sometimes he thought about carving that traitorous snake in his belly out. Maybe then it would stop and he could move on.

Other times, he tried to use seiðr to put himself to sleep without nightmares, but after the one time he messed up and knocked himself out for almost two weeks, he gave up on that bright idea.

A lot of people that had survived the vanishing didn’t make it long. They died in the months after, usually in the kind of way people didn’t talk about in “polite company”. He had seen an older man swinging from a tree on a delivery for Mrs. Østergaard one morning.

He thought about it sometimes. He couldn’t deny that.

It was tempting.

But there was something in the back of his head that screamed at him when he thought about it for too long. The voice sounded a lot like his grandmother and he always listened to her. She might be dead, but she was and always would be the wisest person he knew.

 

It was a quiet summer morning at the park when she appeared. She had long, curly black hair and mismatched eyes. Her cheekbones were sharp like papa’s and she was wearing a leather jacket. Half her face and neck looked burned and scarred, the other half pristine. She had a limp and looked exhausted.

“Váli Lokesson?”

He looked at her and nodded. “Sister,” he said, understanding who she was. He knew his father had had a daughter ages before, though he never knew much about her or her other parent.

“Little brother,” she says with a smile. “You’re doing well for yourself, considering.” She took a seat on the bench next to him and pulled a wrapped sandwich out of her pocket. She then pulled a take-out box and another, smaller wrapped box.

He looked her in the eye and raised an eyebrow.

“It’s your birthday,” she said simply. “I didn’t want you to be alone.” He smiled, trying to ignore the tears in his eyes. It was weirdly nice to have his older half-sister show up for the first time in his life after the world went to shit, taking time off from her job as the literal Queen of the Dead to spend his birthday with him so he wouldn’t be alone.

"Is Papa alive still?" he said, quietly. Hela closed her eyes and sighed. 

"You know I can't get into that with you, little brother. Not now."

“No worries, I understand. Thanks,” he said, voice cracking. It was like grandmother and the future. They couldn't tell him things. They could hint, but he never could figure the hints out. This one, he didn't want to figure out. Because he didn't want to know, even though he asked.

He reached over and opened the take-out box, revealing two large pieces of chocolate cake from Mrs. Østergaard's grocery. Hela reached over and candles appeared, lit and dancing happily. He laughed, and it turned into a sob.

Thin, strong arms pulled him into her chest and she hummed a song to him and let him cry. Eventually he calmed down and she had him open the present. It was a silver arm ring, with a wolf’s head at either end, runes carved along the length of it. There was a pull to it, a taste. The flavor was faint, but still there, rippling. His father had created this. He gaped at it and his sister moved to slide it onto his left arm, then placed her hand gently at the back of his neck, an old familiar gesture. He fought back the tears that started to come and pulled her into a tight hug. Maybe he and Fen wouldn't be alone.

“Happy birthday, little one.”


	6. cold and broken hallelujah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay, so I lied,” Váli said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will fix any formatting errors later - sorry for delay

_ it's not a cry that you hear at night _

_ it's not somebody who's seen the light _

_ it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah _

 

There was something about the young boy that troubled Thor. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but… there was something odd about him. His smile, his smirk. How he held himself and spoke, even the flavor of his seiðr. The way his eyes were shaped, the colors - how his left was green and the right was blue, the way they crinkled at the corners and the way he knew - he  _ knew _ how they would end up getting little wrinkles as he grew older.

It was like looking at a younger Loki.

The Loki he had grown up with was taller, slighter, paler, had darker hair, but this boy… this Váli…. Despite the red hair and the shorter, denser musculature, he was every inch Loki. It made no sense. As their journey to the passage went on, Thor kept watching not-Loki, hoping upon hope that it wasn’t some bizarre trick. Part of him wondered if it was like in that legend of that Potter child when the older wizard had a man trapped in the back of his head.

But Váli was not wearing a funny hat, so that wouldn’t be it.

The eyes, though. 

Thor wasn’t sure how many people were aware that Loki had heterochromatic eyes. As he had gotten older, the younger prince had shifted his eyes to match and they had both taken on the green. Sometimes he got injured and forgot to keep it up. Sometimes Loki didn’t feel like bothering with it. But few outside of family knew. And Váli had the same eyes.

 

They had stopped by a river and made camp for the afternoon. Thor had brought some rabbits and set them to be readied to cook by Steve, distracted again by the map, before going to find the boy and his dog. The light filtered through the trees and Thor hummed quietly as he walked, relishing the breeze and quiet, though it was ruined by the laughter and barking from ahead. He kept his pace and came out at the edge of a large pool, smiling as he watched Váli throw a stick and his dog jump out into the water for it. The boy was naked, soaking wet and laughing. He then threw himself into the deep water after his dog.

Thor sat down on a log, near the boy’s clothes and waved when the two noticed him. “Come join us! It’s nice here!”

The god considered. It had been ages since he had enjoyed himself - children were often able to relax. Even though this not-Loki was serious so often, it warmed his heart to see that the little mage was having fun. Thor stood and stripped himself of his hiking clothes and ran into the water, making sure to drench the boy and dog as well as he could. They threw sticks for Fenrir and splashed at each other and he threw the boy in deeper.

Thor didn’t know how long it had been, but he was in a good mood. The best mood he had been in years. He was floating on his back in the shallows of the pool while the boy lay stretched out on the grass with his dog.

“You aren’t human,” he said, suddenly. It had come to him while he was playing with the child. No Midgardian child would have such knowledge of seiðr. Not at the age of 17 years. That made no sense. Normally children didn’t start learning more than just the fundamentals until the age of 50.

He noticed Váli’s hand pause in Fenrir’s fur. With a heavy sigh, the boy responded, “No.”

“Asgardian?”

“Okay, so I lied,” Váli said quietly, sitting up and wrapping his arms around his knees. Thor got up out of the water and made his way over, dressing and sitting in the grass next to him. “I’m not of age yet on Asgard or Midgard. I haven’t passed my trials.” The boy hid his face in his arms.

“Do you not have a sponsor?” Thor asked gently. A youth needed an adult to sponsor him through the trials. Orphans would have fosters, but as Váli had been raised on Midgard, he likely did not have one.

“No,” came the miserable reply. “Papa was supposed to. He promised.” Thor placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder and squeezed. It was then he noticed the raised scar and lifted his hand to look at it.

It wasn’t a scar.

It was a raised tattoo, almost a brand. Two entwined snakes, in the shape of an S, their tails in the others mouth.

What Midgardians called the Urnes snakes.

Loki’s personal sigil.

“Who was your father?” the god said suddenly, deadly calm. It was the voice his mother used when he was younger, when he was well and truly fucked. “Váli of Stillwater, do not lie to me. I am your King.  _ Who _ is your father?” The head tilted and from under damp red curls, the green and blue eyes peered at him in terror, tears welling up. Thor brushed the tangled hair out of the boy’s face. Váli’s chin quivered and he let out a sob, forcing out his answer.

“My name is Váli Lokason. I’m the youngest child of Loki Odinson and Sigyn Sunnadatter.” Thor’s heart broke then, and he took his nephew into his arms, holding him to his chest. The dog Fenrir came and rested his head on the god’s feet with a sigh, amber eyes watching the two of them. Váli sobbed into Thor’s chest, grasping at his shirt.

 

The sky was darkening and Váli had calmed down a while back, but they still sat, Thor rubbing his back gently and humming, the dog curled up at their feet, the boy holding on to his uncle. It was calm, the insects buzzing and animals making their noises.

“Váli,” Thor said after a while, breaking the calm. The boy shifted, looking up at him. “I would be proud to be your foster and see you through the trials.” The bicolored eyes widened and the dog’s tail started thumping heavily. Thor raised an eyebrow at Fenrir and then looked back down at his nephew. “You are my nephew and my only living family until we find your father and save him.”

“Thank you, uncle,” the boy said quietly, as if tasting the word on his tongue. “I will serve you well.”

“You will not serve me, Váli. You are my nephew. You are as good as my own son.” The dog started nosing into their embrace, giving kisses to both Váli and Thor, making the boy giggle and Thor laugh. The two stood to get ready to head back to Steve, to help with whatever was left to do for the evening. Hopefully he wasn’t worried, or annoyed.

“Sorry, Fenrir’s kind of attached to me.”

“Oddly so. Is he a witch-dog?” The giant dog tilted his head as they spoke. Loki had had a few witch-animals when they were younger - he would draw power from them and they would assist in battles when needed. One had been a large, hideous serpent he called Jörmungandr. The Midgardians at the time had misunderstood a joke and believed Jörg to actually have been Loki’s son. On the one hand, it was hilarious. On the other… it was disturbing to think of his brother as having sired (or given  _ birth _ ) to such a creature.

Váli shrugged. “Technically he’s a wolf, but he likes being in the form of a dog because he figured out Midgardians love giving dogs treats. Papa made Nari and me both a puppy when we were born to look after us and to protect us.” The dog barked and thumped his tail. “Fenrir is connected to me. He will live as long as I do and will age with me.” The god frowned at this. “Nari… when he was killed, his wolf Romulus died as well. Fenrir and I have been alone since.”

Thor knew to leave it be. Centuries of poking sore spots and causing hurt by accident had taught him caution, though he didn’t always practice it. He waited on the boy to finish packing up his backpack and then the three Asgardians headed into the woods to find their camp.


	7. telling myself it's fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His sanity may lose this time and he’s terrified of it.
> 
> Loki still hates himself for it, either way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay - working 70+ hour weeks and missing the other half of yourself makes life quite hellish. I'll do better with the posting of this next chapter, promise. Hopefully less of a wait this time.

_it's alright, it's okay_  
_I'm alright, I'll be okay_  
_first time I felt like I was gonna die  
but I've gotten pretty good at telling myself it's fine_

 

The blade cuts deep.

He clenches his teeth, ignoring the sweet lies they give. False promises of mercy, of absolution, of reward. He does his best to breathe and is almost amused to find he can’t even take a full breath.

He hadn’t expected to survive this the first time. And now here’s a second.

His sanity may lose this time and he’s terrified of it.

It was nearly lost last time. They had threatened his mother, his brother, his Sigyn, his children. And it was only then that he broke, bent. His mind shattered and the Stone truly warped him.

The blade cuts deep and he tastes the tang of blood in his mouth as he bites his tongue to keep from screaming

 

It was rare that he was home for it, but he knew the twins fought terribly - the intensity worsening with age. He didn’t realize how bad it got, however. 

Váli was bound at the ankles, his face red and veins sticking out in his neck and forehead as he raged at Nari. His hound was similarly restrained, snarling. The taller twin sneered, the ghost of a wolf next to him crouched.

“You’re an absolute idiot, Váli. Everyone knows you're argr. There isn’t any point in trying to court Anjya. You’re making a fool of yourself and embarrassing me.”

“I am not argr!” the smaller boy shrieked. “Fuck you, you stupid worm! Let me up!”

“You can’t even let yourself up, Valerie! Why would I help you?”

Loki should have intervened. He should have. But the broken, twisted part of him that the Other had left behind wanted to see what would happen. He hadn’t seen them fight since they were little and this was....

It was familiar.

Váli broke the bonds and launched himself at his brother, an axe appearing in his hand. He swung wildly, cursing. Nari drew his sword and parried, but too slowly. The axe bit his arm and he cried out.

Váli kept pressing him back, his teeth bared and eyes wild.

Loki intervened when the smaller boy had his brother on his back. Both were bloodied and tired.

“What is going on?” He asked, stepping into the clearing. The little redhead glowered, his axe falling from his hands and disappearing. Nari was quick to speak.

“Vál attacked me because I flirted with the girl he likes!” He was bleeding from a gash on his cheekbone. 

“Is that true?” 

He knew it didn’t seem likely, considering the taunt of argr his older boy had thrown. It ate at him inside, knowing that his boys would never know much about him because even they were learning the old prejudices despite growing on Midgard. He couldn’t open up to them.

Váli crossed his arms and kicked at a clod of grass.

Loki sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Nari, go home. I’ll speak to you later.” The older twin nodded and walked off, his wolf following obediently.

It was silent.

Loki crossed to his youngest and hugged him close before stepping backwards, pulling him with.

The black pebbles crunched softly beneath his feet and Váli pulled away, wiping his bloodied nose on his torn sleeve. Loki turned and stared into the great sea. His favorite holidays had been here, on the northern shores of Vanaheim with his mother. He sat, crossing his legs and staring out over the dark water.

“Am I in trouble?” the sullen voice asks as a smaller body sits heavily next to him. He wraps his arm around his youngest’s shoulder and sighs.

“I want to hear your side.” He can feel the anger and frustration bubble back up under his son’s skin.

“I hate Nari,” Váli growls through clenched teeth. “All I did was ask Anjya to a dance and he gets mad and his friends and...” he stops and flings a rock into the sea. “And then he keeps calling me argr and ergi and I don’t even know if I am and - I just don’t know!” 

Loki curses mentally and strokes the red locks as they sit in silence. He’s not sure what to say. There’s a part of him that’s terrified that Váli might turn out like him - angry, vengeful - if he and Sigyn can’t get through to their older son.

“How did you know?” the small boy asks. Loki looks at him, eyebrow raised. “That you were ergi?” Mismatched eyes meet each other and he realizes then that his youngest has him figured far better than he knew. He breathes out through his nose and flicks a pebble into the water. They sit in silence and toss pebbles together, shoulders bumping and knees knocking.

“It was always there,” he says finally, rolling a pebble between his fingers. “It’s not something I ever really discovered. It’s more that I learned what it was. Like how you know what a song is, but you’ve never known the name of it. It’s always there and you can recognise it, but you just didn’t know. _I_ just didn’t know. And then I did.” Váli hums and then carefully crawls into his father’s lap, tucking his head under his chin. Loki holds him close and presses his nose into the wild curls, breathing in the odd smell of boy’s shampoo and teenage musk. 

It was in moments like this that he knew he was not a good father, though he tried. He wished he were more like his mother, but she was the god of motherhood. He was simply the trickster. He tried to tell himself it was okay that he wasn’t as good as his mother, that she favored him over Thor, so therefore it was okay that he favored one twin over the other.

Loki still hates himself for it, either way.

 

They’re sitting in a shop called “Dot’s Pots”. Midgardians have a fondness for painting their own pottery and having it fired, but not making it. The modern era on Midgard will forever amuse him, Loki smirks as he hums contentedly. His younger son picked this place on the twins’ weekend with him. Váli sits next to him, tip of his tongue sticking out in concentration as he puts the finishing touches on his ceramic jug.

“Hurry up, Val-Pal,” Nari groans, slumping into his seat with freshly scrubbed hands. “The shop is closing soon and we’re supposed to go to that play!” He had picked out a play about a teenager smoking drugs to go see. _Reefer_ something. It was supposed to be funny, he said. Loki had no doubt it was hilarious to teenage boys. Especially since Sigyn would likely not approve of the subject or the age-range it was intended for.

“I’m not done yet!” the redhead grumbles and jabs his paintbrush into the red, smooshing it over into purple. “Just because you don’t like art doesn’t mean you get to rush me!”

“What is it even supposed to be?” Loki twists his neck, trying to see. He isn’t quite sure either, but it looks like… a mutated strawberry? Or a flower? He loves that Váli tries his hardest even though he isn't great at it. It’s heartwarming to see him just have fun. 

“It’s a sunset and the other side is the sunrise,” he says, swiping his brush across the jug. Nari snorts derisively and Váli flicks paint at him. “Don’t be a dick! Not all of Mozart’s paintings were perfect, you know.” The older twin cackles and Loki frowns.

“Mozart was a composer, I thought?” Nari nearly falls off his chair, laughing harder. Váli looks up at Loki, shrugging. He nudges his phone over to his father with his elbow, hands covered in paint, and Loki takes it, asking the little robot voice who Mozart is. A link to Wikipedia comes up and, yes, Mozart was a composer. 

“Oh,” Váli says quietly as Nari continues to laugh hysterically. “I thought he did those paintings of those pretty water flowers.” Loki leans over and kisses his temple, holding the boy to his chest. Midgardians in the United States make jokes about “dumb blonds” and sometimes Loki is grateful his youngest did not wind up with sandy hair. The little redhead is so much like his uncle that it’s ridiculous that they don’t share blood. They are so _so_ smart, but at the same time, so utterly clueless.

The irony of ironies.

Loki has spent his whole life loving Thor. They grew together, learned together, fought together. Fought each other. And his favorite son happens to be what Loki thinks Thor would have been like had he ever been shy. Váli is just as gentle as his uncle was as a child when Loki was upset, just as earnest. It hurts him a bit inside, it itches a bit. But he loves his tiny not-Thor even so.


	8. the fighter still remains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Damnit Loki.”

_he cried out_   
_in his anger and his shame;_   
_“I am leaving, I am leaving!”  
but the fighter still remains_

 

It was the sixth day before they came across anyone else. The mountains and woods had been quiet except for the animals and buzzing of insects. It made Steve remember books and old radio shows from his childhood, where people would explore the great unknown. He felt a bit like Teddy Roosevelt. The land was amazing and he understood intrinsically the need the long gone president had felt to preserve the wild.

There was chatter. They could hear the group before they came upon them. Whoever it was didn’t bother being quiet - they obviously didn’t think there was anyone else out here and didn’t have a reason to try to be subtle.

But he was wary. Thor seemed to agree, crouching down by him and moving slowly through the trees and brush, Fenrir crawling on his belly next to him. Váli however had other ideas. From nowhere, a quiver and bow appeared on his back, knives at his belt, and the teen climbed up a tree quickly, silently.

Steve lost sight of him as he seemed to leap through the branches above.

Thor cursed in a language he didn’t understand and then started moving faster, towards the sound of the people they were sneaking upon.

They hid in brush, taking in the sight of the camp. There were nearly a dozen men, armed loosely. Boxes of something were strewn about the ground and there was a starved looking dog chained to a pole.

A leaf fell in front of his face and Steve looked up to see Váli. His stomach dropped. The young face had gone almost murderous and the boy had readied his bow, the arrowhead glowing. His lips were twisted into a wicked grimace.

Thor breathed out quickly, “Damnit Loki.”

Steve jerked his head around to stare at the god - _Loki?_ \- and that was when the first arrow flew. A shout went out and Thor sprang forward from the trees. Steve followed, yanking his shield onto his arm and drawing out his sidearm.

More glowing arrows flew, Mjölnir rang out. Steve took a few shots and hid behind his shield. There was a flurry of movement to his left and he saw the teenager, hands aflame, yanking the chain from its stake.

The last of the men, bandits from the look of them, were secure. A whimper caught his attention. Váli knelt next to the emaciated dog, his head in his hands. Fenrir had his great snout resting on the teen’s shoulder.

The dog was dead.

 

“Váli is Loki?” He asked later, quietly. The teenager was sleeping, snuggled into the side of his suddenly much larger hound. It had taken lots of encouragement on behalf of Thor to get the boy to allow them to move on once he had buried the dog. He had cried silently for a while as they hiked, his hand in Fenrir’s fur.

Thor shook his head. “No.” He was hunched over, fumbling with the flint. His hands were shaking heavily and he’d curse every time he dropped it.

“Then why—?”

“His father.” Steve frowned. The god looked over to Steve and he could see the worry in his face. “Váli is my nephew.” He stared at the large hands striking flint, the little tendrils of smoke as it caught.

“Wait, what?” He asked hoarsely. “Loki has kids?” The god nodded and stayed silent. “How many?”

“Two living children. The other is my niece Hela. She is the queen of her own realm. It is unlikely you will meet her anytime soon.” He muttered something under his breath and made a hooked gesture with his hand. “At least I pray you don’t.”

“Why?” _Was she evil?_ Loki had been redeemed according to Thor and Doctor Banner, but….

“She’s the Queen of the Dead,” Thor said simply.

_Oh._

Hela as in Hell. As in Hel or Helheim or whatever the Vikings called it.

Well then.

Conversation died off after that. The cicadas and crackling of the fire took up the space left between the two former Avengers. Steve had questions, but he could tell Thor wasn’t in the mood at all. Something was going on.

 A stew was made and Thor forced his miserable and puffy faced nephew to join the older men at the fire to eat some of it. He spoke softly in the lilting, foreign tongue Steve didn’t understand, trying to encourage Váli. After three mouthfuls, the teenager scrambled away from the fire into the trees and heaved loudly. Thor called out to him, the boy responded and Fenrir got up and padded into the gloom.

Steve had never been good with grief. Not when his ma died, not with Bucky (either time), not with Peggy. Maybe the kid had never seen anything die in such a cruel way before. Which, despite him shooting people with arrows, would make sense. _Kind of._

He settled down to try to get a bit of sleep, knowing that they would be making hopefully their last day of travel just before dawn. Thor sat up facing away from the fire, looking like a brooding statue carved out of marble by one of the masters.

Hours later, after Thor had gone to sleep and the fire had died off, Steve was woken by cracking twigs and rustling leaves. He opened his eyes, careful not to move too much, though he took his sidearm out of his holster as quietly as he could.

The large dog, Fenrir came quietly back, lying down with a soft thump next to the embers of the fire. A smaller canine followed and curled up into his side, whimpering. Fenrir nuzzled it and it settled down.

Steve kept his eye on the two until their breathing slowed.

Váli was still missing.

 

The phrase Stark would have used was “money shot,” Steve mused as he sat on the edge of a kaleidoscopic bridge that stretched out from a waterfall into space. It was majestic. He wondered if these were the sort of visions that the prophets and saints had - seeing anything like this could convert a man.

He marveled at the sight of space, the colors in the glass he perched on, the fact that he could hear the waterfall, even though Tony had told him there was no sound in space. Miraculous. Just… _miraculous_.

Someone sat next to him, quietly, and he glanced to the side. Ah. _Loki_.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” the god asked, a wary eye on the edge of the bridge. His voice was nostalgic, regretful. Steve nodded quietly, turning back to the stars. They sat in comfortable silence for a while while he tried to take in all he could. Then he noticed the mass of stars beneath the bridge and twisted his neck to look, getting closer to the edge. An arm wrapped around his middle and held him tightly. He turned his head and saw Loki holding him to his chest, eyes closed and seemingly afraid. “Please don’t fall. It’s not enjoyable, to say the least.”

“Isn’t this a dream?”

“Yes and no.” Loki pulled away from him and Steve felt oddly incomplete. “Either way, do not fall, Captain Rogers. I don’t recommend it.”


	9. like a star that I will follow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And there was the promise of… Not really a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
> 
> Loki didn’t keep lucky charms after all.

_ just for a minute  
_ _ the silver forked sky  
_ _ lit you up like a star  
_ _ that I will follow _

  
  


The map was in his mind, he had only to close his eyes and breathe to see it. It even had little dot marking where he was standing. But this was a magic map. Or say-der. _Whatever_. But similar enough to the HUD in his suit and glasses that it worked out. Even if it irritated the shit out of him that he couldn’t reverse-engineer it.

For some god-forsaken reason, he had to go to some shithole mountain in the Appalachians because the Norse God of Crazy said so. And he was probably going nuts himself for going along with it. But it wasn’t like he was doing much else lately. Fatherhood was great! It was a challenge in ways that engineering and weaponry and… okay, so he was a little bored. There wasn’t nearly enough adrenaline. And maybe he figured Pepper should cover for him for a bit. That was cool, right? He’d been a stay-at-home dad since Morgan had been born.

Fair trade, equality of the sexes, all that jazz.

It had been ages since he had been on his own. Since that time with the Mandarin, really. And he preferred not to focus on that, like _ever_. Still a bit of a sore spot, still liable to cause a touch of panic. Not even touching on the bullshit with Cap and his frozen bestie. Getting left for dead in the Arctic doesn’t really leave the best lasting impression on a psyche. Especially one that already was barely dealing with already-there PTSD.

But hey! PTSD was for suckers. And there was one thing he wasn’t.

That’s a lie.

He’s totally a sucker.

Dr. Anthony Edward Stark, PhD,  _ Sucker. _

 

He is probably crazy for doing this. He is _definitely_ crazy for doing this. He’s always had suspicions. Always. And then God of Wackiness came and more-or-less confirmed and like… is it bad that he jumped at the opportunity?

And there was the promise of…

Not really a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

_ Loki didn’t keep lucky charms after all. _

But there was a Little Spider at the end of the water spout just beyond the rainbow. And it was all Tony wanted.

So fuck it.

Anthony Edward Stark _was_ a sucker and he was going to follow the Norse God of Fuckery and go and rescue his Spider. And if he happened to help save the asses of his former teammates on the way, so be it. He'd follow the fallen God like a shooting star and see what side of hell he ended up on.

 

Hopefully it wasn't a trap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the break. It's been a time. Let me know what you think.
> 
> (also, Tony is not a mentally healthy man - if it were literally anyone else, he'd be supportive. But as it's himself, he's a *bootstraps* sort of douche.)


End file.
